


maybe she would stick with overwatch a while longer.

by emjam



Series: Human After All [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Against Sombra's will lol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Cybernetics, Developing Friendships, Implied Past Dad!Reyes, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Past McReyes, Post-Recall Commander McCree, Sombra (Overwatch)-centric, Sombra joined Overwatch, ish, light body horror, some description of injuries, some fluff some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emjam/pseuds/emjam
Summary: "The first thing she noticed was the sizzling thrum of airtight healing technology through the cybernetics in her spine, like the feeling you get in your teeth when a fork scrapes against a plate... There wasn’t any pain, but instead a stuffy discomfort and light numbness. She opened her eyes to the white walls of the medical wing. Fantastic. She would never hear the end of this."Sombra gets into an accident that forces her to spend a lot more time around her fellow Overwatch members than ever before - specifically, one Angela Ziegler. As things happen around her, she has to wonder when she actually started to care about these people.AU from canon - not long after the recall, Sombra joins OW for her own reasons.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey, watch it.” Sombra let out a pained hiss between her teeth.

“It’s your fault for getting yourself into this mess,” Dr. Ziegler huffed. “You could at least let me fix it up for you.” She firmly secured a wrap to her patient’s arm just beside the impressive scrape below her elbow.

“Don’t feel too important, I’m only here so that monkey doesn’t bother me again.” Whenever things like this happened, Winston kept bothering her to go to the med wing. He was so annoying, always pestering her to fall back and be a little more patient so that this didn’t happen again. Infiltration and up-close interaction was her whole _thing_. God forbid she wanted to get to it sooner rather than later - which she was more than capable of, thank you.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Hm. And I thought all the blood was a good enough reason.” It wasn’t a life-threatening injury by any means, but it would definitely take a moment to heal.

Sombra was silent as the doctor ran the roll of gauze around the gash in her arm for the last time and secured it.

“I usually work alone,” Sombra finally said, indignant. “I also usually don’t get hurt. Coincidence?”

The woman only gave her a superficial smile, corners of her mouth a little too forced. “Maybe be a little more careful next time.”

Sure. Sliding off the examination table, Sombra walked out of the room without looking back. She had a mission to get ready for.

* * *

Times like these were ones where Sombra wished she was still in Talon - only for the freedom, if nothing else. She had left for a reason. Still, if she were still in Talon, she wouldn’t have as much opposition to her tendencies to go her own way sometimes.

Right now, things were getting a little out of hand. Not something Sombra wasn’t used to - it just meant she had to get a little creative - but their dumb commander wouldn’t like it.

Those wannabe terrorists were pretty good at covering Overwatch’s front with suppressive fire, especially in such a walled-in street. Reinhardt was blocking a fair amount of it, but he couldn’t reliably move forward, and it wouldn’t hold for too long. Despite Sombra’s abilities, there was no way to prolong that shield. It would require more tinkering than she could do in two minutes in the middle of a skirmish.

That idiot cowboy was spouting instructions in everyone’s comms, but Sombra was an expert at ignoring all that. She didn’t get where she was today by blindly listening to others. In one swift movement, she tossed her translocator in a far arc so that it stuck down behind those fools. Immediately, she activated it, feeling the dizzy fuzz of translocation as it rebuilt her behind enemy lines.

“Sorry, boys,” she smirked. The boys in question - armed men in all black - turned to her in different expressions of shock right when she hit her EMP, shutting down their guns.

It was almost too easy to fire her bullets into their helmets.

She didn’t notice the compact oblong metal shape that rolled under her feet until a shout came from someone over on the Overwatch side.

A painfully loud noise erupted around her, then ringing that wiped the world of sound, and then darkness.

* * *

The first thing she noticed was the sizzling thrum of airtight healing technology through the cybernetics in her spine, like the feeling you get in your teeth when a fork scrapes against a plate. She immediately recognized it because she couldn’t touch it. It was easy to disable parts of Dr. Ziegler’s Valkyrie suit, but the actual healing functions of her staff were somehow immune. It was something that still frustrated Sombra even now that hacking it wasn’t necessary since they’re supposedly on the same side.

There wasn’t any pain, but instead a stuffy discomfort and light numbness. She opened her eyes to the white walls of the medical wing. Fantastic. She would never hear the end of this.

“Oh, good! You’re awake. Didn’t I tell you to be a little more careful?” Came the tired, teasing voice of Dr. Ziegler. She was standing near the foot of Sombra’s bed, reading some sort of tablet in her hand.

Great.

Sombra stretched out her arms and laid her palms flat on the bed, pushing upwards with all her might. Her back separated from the sheets and rose a few inches, but it didn’t last. Sighing in defeat, she laid back down. Her arms were too… floaty to support much of anything right now.

“I got their weapons down, didn’t I? There was just a little flaw, is all. We all make mistakes.” It would have worked out if those guys hadn’t somehow gotten their hands on ridiculously old tech. What kind of grenades didn’t have some sort of electronic start-stop interface these days? If that were the case, the EMP would’ve wiped it out, but…

“Yes, but it would have been safer to listen to McCree. He is in charge for a reason. I can personally attest to his skill, if that is what stops you from following his orders.” She checked something off with a stylus and slid the tablet into a holder in the bed frame.

“Nah, there's just no fun in listening to him.”

“Hm. Very mature of you.” Dr. Ziegler approached her bedside. “Now, I do not want to alarm you, but both of your legs were badly damaged. It isn’t certain, but there may be a need for… replacements.”

Sombra glanced down to her legs, which were currently covered in a thin blanket. What a pain in the ass. She shrugged. “Whatever you need to do. I know where to get money if you need it.”

The doctor raised her eyebrows. “Alright, well… what do you want to be called in your medical file? I found records of your name -”

“Don’t call me that. Sombra is fine.” She would probably have to take a look at those files later to make sure that everything’s in order in there. And possibly threaten Zarya later.

“Fine, then. Get some rest. I will be back to check on you.” Promptly, the doctor swept out of the room.

Sombra watched her leave, then made a second attempt at the getting-up thing. Arms wobbling, it took a minute or so, but she raised herself high enough to rest her back against the pillow. More-or-less sitting up, which was always good.

Ugh, how was she supposed to rest now that she was awake?

She looked down at her apparently afflicted legs. There wasn’t any pain.

Dr. Ziegler’s healing technology was impressive, she had to admit. It took energy, but not any painful sort of motion, to pull the cheap bedding back to take a look at the damage. Her feet and calves turned out to be wrapped in many layers of gauze and padding. The wrappings stopped nearly at her knees. Below that, everything was numb.

Narrowing her eyes, she reached for an edge of the wrappings and experimentally pulled up. In one second, she felt a few things: excruciating pain from wet skin pulling upwards, and rare disgust from the visual she could get of burned flesh.

She pulled her hands away, leaving the bandages rumpled in her haste. That did not look good. There was some optimism to be found in the very small range of the explosive, but not much.

She had to test something. She triggered her invisibility. Its technology hummed under the still-feeling parts of her skin. As predicted, everything above her wrapped appendages disappeared to the naked eye.

Unfortunately, everything under those bandages remained visible. She could see the insides of her mangled legs.

“Hm. That’s broken.”

That girl who did her cybernetics was literally untraceable. Sombra didn’t give her a name and the girl didn’t identify herself either; they were both invisible to the world. Sombra was experienced, but not with the kind of organic-tech fusion that someone else did to her.

This would be a problem.

* * *

“I want to help you, but I'm going to need you to cooperate.” That damn doctor was here again, in a white t-shirt and plain gray sweatpants. She read over that tablet of hers with a dissecting gaze.

Sombra rolled her eyes. “Are you even a professional?”

The doctor dragged her stylus over the tablet screen with a little more force than necessary. “I will ask you to forgive me for the lack of a uniform. Our operation may bear Overwatch’s name, but there is a lot of work to be done, so some things have fallen to the wayside for now.”

“Sure. But isn’t it a little unsanitary? Looks like you slept in those.”

“These are sterile pajamas, thank you.”

Oh, a little bite in that tone. Sombra smirked wryly, but made no further comment.

“Alright.” Dr. Ziegler moved a few things around on her screen. Sombra could get access to it if she wanted to, but it was probably boring medical stuff. “Before I do anything, I need to know a few things. Please fill this out.” The doctor passed the tablet to her patient.

Ooh. Sombra hasn’t been to the doctor in years. She actually didn’t know if she was allergic to anything. Shrugging, she checked ‘no’ to that question and filled out the rest of the precursory information, signing the patient name field with one large ‘S.’

“Thank you.” Dr. Ziegler took it back and looked it over. “It says here you have had…” She squinted. “190 chip implants?”

“Among other things. It’s why I can do what I do.”

“Does this number include the technology on your back?”

Sombra blinked. “Eh, I guess so.”

“Hm. May I take a look at it? I need to know how much it interacts with your organic tissue. It may be dangerous to perform surgeries otherwise.”

Sombra wordlessly turned over, allowing the doctor to make a duplicable scan of her hardware. She relaxed on her stomach, now comfortable with her hands under her pillow. For a second the other woman in the room was completely silent save for the hum of machines, and that was fine with her.

Well, the woman _was_ quiet, until she finally finished dissecting the x-ray-like image of Sombra’s defining tech.

“This… your system is highly illegal.”

Yeah, get with the program, Angela. As if Overwatch medical research had been entirely legal in its heyday either.

“What about it?” Sombra reluctantly rolled onto her back to see Dr. Ziegler staring intently at the scan that she had magnified.

“This method and level of cybernetic fusion was deemed unethical ages ago. It is fused to your bones and runs under your skin like a secondary nervous system. The integration with your spine…”

Sombra watched the doctor, who speared the scan with an intense look of concern, confusion, and analysis. “You care about ethics?” She asked innocently. “You act all worried, but I seem to remember a little problem with a sparrow…”

“A sparrow...?" She asked, but her eyes soon lit up with understanding, and then turned cold. "You don’t know what you’re talking about.” A nerve had been touched. She took a deep breath, held it, and then released it with a sigh. “I suppose you cannot tell me where you had this done.”

“Nope. My artist is a ghost. Sorry.” Strangely, poking at the wounds of the doctor’s mistakes didn’t make her feel as good as she thought it would.

“Great,” she mumbled, tone deflated. “I have to do some research. I’ll let you know once I have a plan.” Without listening for a response, she disappeared.

Sombra sighed and opened up a screen to scroll though.

* * *

Sitting around for ages was absolutely mind-numbing.

Sombra had her screens, sure, but she wanted to actually get up and _do_ things. There was all the time in the world to do some research, but no way to pursue her findings. She looked down at her blanket-covered legs, imagining their sickly skin. Ugh. All the modifications she’s done to this body couldn’t stop the simple effectiveness of raw explosives.

“Hey.”

She looked up. In the doorway was McCree - first name Jesse, once-loyal member of Blackwatch; even further back, a loyal teenager in Deadlock. Not that he told her any of that information himself. She could try to get under his skin… God, she was bored.

He wore a t-shirt, sweats, and his hat - a much less bulky outfit than his mission get-up. Sombra’s never seen him wear anything but, she realized. She never really spent down-time around Overwatch members.

“Don’t you have missions to plan, cowboy?” She didn’t look him in the eye, returning most of her attention to a screen she had pulled up. It wasn’t anything important, for once, just some forum she found.

“Not at the moment, no.” The man squinted out the med wing window at the overcast sky, apparently unperturbed by Sombra’s dismissive tone towards someone of his rank. “Angie told me you’d probably be needing some new legs.”

Sombra raised an eyebrow. “I figured everyone knew that by now.”

“Well, ‘round here we’re not much for sharing personal information without permission. I know that’s a _foreign idea_ to you.”

“Oh, so the people under your command don’t know your little stint with Deadlock?”

“Actually, a fair amount of ‘em do, and I don’t really care.”

Sombra blinked at the text she was reading. She had lost her place.

“Now, I could tell a lot of people your full name or all your nasty medical details right now, but for the sake of a semblance of decency, I won’t. You may be a shifty devil, but that don’t mean I gotta be. Jus’ wanted to let you know that you have time to recuperate here with what little we’ve got. An’ if you wanna leave Overwatch and recover with people you know, we can arrange that too.”

There were a lot of faces in Sombra’s memory, oftentimes remembered alongside important details on corruption and personal faults. Despite her wide range of acquaintances, there didn’t seem to be one person she could think of that she would trust with her life.

“I’ll stay here,” she said, finally looking at McCree properly.

He wasn’t all that young, per se, but he didn’t look like a commander. There used to be a lot of barefooted children running in and out of the bakery with pocket change back where she grew up, treating the streets like playgrounds and unexplored territory. He looked like one of those free-spirited kids grew up.

“Sounds good.” Her ‘commander’ seemed about to shuffle back out of the room, but stopped for a moment. “And Olivia?”

Sombra tensed, shoulders tightening and hands freezing in place over her lap.

“If you wanna keep working with us, I suggest paying attention to the chain of command.” With that last threat, McCree turned around and exited the med wing, spurs shaking softly with his footsteps.

The room slowly dimmed with the thickening of the clouds outside. Sombra tried to refocus on her screen, but it was a lost cause.


	2. Chapter 2

The medical office was, frankly speaking, a mess. For a moment Angela found it funny - it was as if she had never left, as if Overwatch had never even disbanded. Just like old times, there were flash drive chips scattered across her desk, a few haphazard screens displayed on the far wall, some interactive scans floating about waiting for her to meddle with them again, and a fair amount of empty coffee cups spanning multiple surfaces.

And just like old times, she was trying to create someone anew.

She sighed in frustration and picked apart the scan of Sombra’s technological implants for the thousandth time. It was all very… integrated. The system ran like blood vessels throughout the woman’s body, connecting back to the spine fusion, arcing underneath her skin everywhere - except for where her legs were damaged. There, connections were broken or destroyed, along with bones and ligaments. She would typically amputate at this point, but with Sombra’s systems, was it the smartest idea?

It might still be. But how could Angela keep the system’s integration with the prosthetics?

She lamented, not for the first time, how people do so many stupid things to their bodies.

Grabbing her pencil, she scrawled out another series of questionable notes and ideas that might not even lead anywhere. Handwritten was old-school, but it was the best way she found to process information and draw out plans. Without looking, she reached over to her coffee cup, grasped the handle, and brought it to her lips. It was empty.

“Yo, Angela.” Genji entered the office, leaning casually against the wall beside her desk. “Overworking yourself as usual?” He joked.

A reminder of a laugh left Angela’s throat. “Just working. This process is more intensive than you realize.”

“In case you forget, I did watch you build me a new arm in two days. It was impressive.”

She squinted at what she just wrote. She could barely read it. “At least I had something to go off of back then. This… system... is completely new territory.”

“Angela.”

Her head lifted, pale strands of hair drifting over her forehead.

Genji tilted his head. His mask was off. Inquisitive concern wrinkled what she could see of his brow. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

She sighed again. “I have to design a whole new prosthetic model. Her cybernetics are blended with organic bone. It’s different than your adaptations; I need to create a whole new type of connection system to cooperate with her body. I’ve never worked with this before.”

“Listen - you do not only have to help others. You have to help yourself, too.”

Her lips tightened. She scribbled something else down that might not even be German at that point.

A hand landed on her shoulder and she drooped.

“This isn’t something to hurt yourself over,” he said. “Come take a walk with me at least, if you cannot sleep.”

* * *

“Has your brother gotten back to you?” Angela sipped her water bottle - Genji had kept her away from the coffee machine, which she supposed was the smart thing to do.

The Gibraltar Watchpoint was eerily quiet. When it was still running, they both remembered the nonstop hum of human activity that could be heard even at night. Around the dead buildings were only the whispers of Gibraltar wildlife now - and possibly a few other human footsteps, though most of their small membership was now asleep.

Chirps of nocturnal creatures reminded Angela of a vast emptiness as Genji silently considered the question.

“He left me a message, but it was not very decisive,” he finally responded. “I will wait for him, though. I have no problem with that.”

Angela followed the pat earth ahead of them with her eyes. Miniscule white flowering weeds dotted the path they followed, easily crushed underfoot. Above them, stars blinked clearly where clouds weren’t an obstruction. “He doesn’t deserve a brother like you.”

“Well, he has me,” Genji said. “If he wants to know me again. Time shall tell.”

“I don’t condone violence, but even I would have difficulty restraining myself. I commend you for your patience with him.”

Genji looked over a bunch of wildflowers as they walked. “I can’t see myself being any other way now.”

She glanced down at the hand that clutched her water bottle, the last of weeks-old baby blue nail polish barely present on her nails, and wished that she were just a bit stronger. A shoulder bumped hers.

“Do not make yourself do everything.”

“I’m not! In fact, I’m not doing enough. I spent too much time cleaning up the med wing and helping Winston today to even begin needed work on Sombra’s prosthetics.”

“Hah. Only you would believe that today was a failure.”

Her eyes burned with sleep deprivation and she could feel the skin sagging beneath them. “Hm… I suppose I do need some sleep.”

“Good! Go take a nap. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you until you’re rested.”

She smiled. “You are too kind to me, Genji.”

Under the moonlight, they approached one of the many entrances dotting the watchpoint’s structure.

“Thank you for checking up on me,” she said.

Genji’s eyes were warm. “Of course.”

* * *

When Angela awoke, it was with heavy, reluctant eyelids opening from a dead sleep, face pressed deep into the mattress. Sheets twisted around her erratically-positioned limbs. Slowly, she maneuvered her head so that it was no longer facing the wall. She could now see the harsh sunlight streaming through her blinds and filling up the room. Suddenly, it was too bright inside to fall back asleep.

She felt resurrected. Thank goodness Genji reminded her to get some rest.

Reluctantly, she forced herself up and stretched, back quietly cracking. Slipping on a fresh pair of sweatpants and a sweater, she left her sunny room and was embraced by the artificial light of the hallway.

Something flat and white flashed in the corner of her eye. Turning, she looked back at her door. A sheet of paper was taped on it that read DO NOT DISTURB in large, neat capitals. Below the words was a crude stick figure holding some sort of long thin shape, a speech bubble next to the drawing: “I mean it! I have a sword.”

A wide smile grew on her face. She pulled down the notice and pocketed it. Then, she took off down the hallway with purpose. First things first, coffee.

* * *

“Okay! I had a few ideas last night.” Angela burst into the med room and pulled up a few scans of Sombra that she had covered in near-illegible scribbles the night before. With a fresh eye, her sleep-deprived ramblings actually made a little more sense.

A groan came from the lump under the bedcovers. Sombra’s head and hands emerged from beneath them, along with one of her odd little purple screens. “This better be important. I was watching Netflix.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “If you want me to treat you, this just might be essential, yes.”

“If you really don’t feel like it, I can find a way to take care of myself somewhere else,” her patient said, boredly closing down the small screen in front of her.

“Oh, no, I _will_ treat you. I’ve done more work for less respectful patients than you, you know.” Genji was especially vitriolic in the beginning - understandably so. She rummaged around in one of her cluttered, disorganized drawers. Where had she put the damn thing?

“So you’re a doormat.”

“No. I just care.” Maybe a little too much. Triumphant, she pulled out a tattoo marker and turned around to face her bedridden guest - and then stopped. “Now that I think of it, why _do_ you stay?”

Sombra gave a small shrug. “You’re the best contact I have for the job. I don’t know anyone else that has as much experience with cybernetics as you. Not trying to inflate your ego, doctor, I just did a little research.”

The corners of her mouth quirked upward. “Glad to see you praise someone for once.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” she huffed, but it didn’t hold too much antagonism.

“Sure. Now…” Angela walked up to the end of the bed. “I have a plan, but it will take time and I absolutely need your consent to go through with it.”

“I’m listening.”

She held up her tattoo marker. “I would mark where your healthy flesh stops. I - with other medical personnel present for accountability - would remove everything below that line. Then, I can keep the… remains... in suspension for a short while to study the broken technological connectors so that I can properly understand them. That way, you do not only have new legs but also ones that are still compatible with your hardware. Do you have _any_ problems with these ideas? Any at all?”

Her patient shook her head.

“Are you sure? There will be an adjustment to life with prosthetics -”

“I’m _fine_. I’m no stranger to modifications, obviously.”

Feeling tense in her chest, Angela nodded. “Good. I don’t think we would have any legal recourse if you sued us.”

“Eh, no worries there. If I have problems, I won’t be using the law to solve them.”

That didn’t seem like a worry-free statement for anyone involved. Regardless, Angela conceded, and lifted the bedsheets to begin making marks.

* * *

“Mind if I sit, Angie?”

Angela gestured freely to the seat beside her. Jesse plopped down, his plate following suit on top of the table with a clatter. “Taking a break, commander?” She teased as she stabbed her fork into her potatoes.

“For a lil’ bit, yeah.” He arced his arms above his head, twisted with the sound of popping joints, and then collapsed slightly with a sigh. “I dunno how Jack did this shit for so many people. Gabe, either, for that matter.”

“It’s tough, I take it.”

“Lots of decision-making and coordination. Ain’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done, that’s for sure. Don’t really know if I’d say it’s the hardest.” Jesse bit a chunk off of his sandwich. “In any case, things’ll be easier once Fareeha gets here.”

“Do you know when she’ll arrive?” Angela watched as a few others filtered into the cafeteria for lunch. Reinhardt and Torbjörn infiltrated the relatively quiet space with their uproarious laughter, and she smiled at the sound.

“Due to show up anytime within the next couple days. Haven’t seen her in quite a while.”

“Nervous?” Though she couldn’t think of a reason why he would be.

“No.” He shook his head. “Just hope she’s doin’ alright.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen her since she was a teenager. I can’t even imagine how she’s grown.”

“You’ve heard about what she’s done, right?”

Angela nodded, knowing what he meant - her military service and everything after, too.

Jesse responded with a small, genuine smile. “I’m proud o’ her. Always knew how tough she was.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, simply watching the other occupants’ conversation - more interesting than it would seem, when one of its participants was slamming his huge fists on the table excitedly.

“How’s Sombra goin’?” Jesse asked.

Angela sighed. “It’s a complicated process. Surprisingly, she’s not the most difficult patient I’ve had. I seem to remember someone cursing me to death for forcing him to finally get a physical done.” A lopsided smile curved her lips upward.

He let out a cough that became a laugh that showed his teeth. “Ha! I shouldn’t’ve given you so much shit.”

“It’s alright. You were young.”

“We both were.”

She mindlessly pushed the remnants of potato skins around on her near-empty plate. “She is very stubborn. And she acts like the prosthetic process will be nothing. I’m worried about her.” She laughed softly. “I wonder why, with how she treats all of us.”

He hummed. “It’s in your nature, Angie.” He threw his crumpled napkin onto his crumb-covered plate. “Besides, I may not like it, but she’s darn useful. Having her with us instead of against us is a blessing.”

She nodded, looking out across the cafeteria. Wordlessly, she grabbed her plate and headed over to the sinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter will be like this in how it focuses on angela's perspective (the 4th chapter). the rest are sombra-centric


	3. Chapter 3

There was no reason to look. Sombra knew where they were. She had felt the marker drag across her skin, lift, and drag again; had waited as the dotted lines were put on her flesh. So what was the point?

Betraying herself, she pulled up her gown to expose her sad legs. “Hmm.” There they were, the broken lines just below her kneecaps, marking the pounds soon to be removed from her body. Curiosity itch successfully scratched. She pulled her gown down again.

Her skin crawled restlessly. She hadn’t been this immobile in years. The amputations were scheduled to start in a few hours. The annoying doctor had come in to lecture her about taking care of herself, an adjustment period, blah, blah. She’s done this shit before. No big deal.

It hadn’t been this boring though.

“Hello…?”

One of Overwatch’s members was at the door - that woman that got stuck in ice. She had a timid sort of walk, like every step was apologizing for something. Sombra trained her inquisitive eye on her - pajamas, blocky glasses, and a stiff card in her hands. “What’s up?” She responded.

“I hope I’m not intruding.”

Sombra snorted. “I’m not doing much. Don’t worry.”

The woman - Mei, Sombra remembered - perked up. “Oh! Good. I just wanted to bring you this.” She shuffled further into the room to approach the bedside table, the afternoon sun warming her icy clothing through the med wing blinds. Sombra watched her motions, interest piqued. The folded card in her hands was placed on the bedside table so that it stood on its own. “Okay! I’ll be going now.”

“What’s this?” Sombra asked, grabbing the card by a corner with her sharp nails. The cover was a simple, looping font that neatly read _get well soon_.

Mei turned back around. “Oh, well, we just thought it would be nice to give you something before your surgery.”

“We?”

“Me and Angela - I mean, Dr. Ziegler.”

Sombra raised an eyebrow. “Huh.”

“No need to say thanks or anything! I know how you are.” Mei said it all in her usual upbeat, hoping-not-to-step-on-anyone’s-toes way, but something in it echoed a hint of distaste.

Sombra didn't say anything, and Mei didn't wait to hear anything. Once she left, Sombra looked up at the ceiling for a minute. Then, she flipped open the card.

The inside was printed in the same simple font as the outside and its dark blue lettering said _sending good fortune your way - get well soon._ Below the text was a neat signature reading “Mei-Ling Zhou” and a massacre of a signature that vaguely resembled “Dr. Ziegler.” They were the only two signatures.

She tried to think back to the last person to give her a card other than her mother. No one came to mind.

Maybe it was a ploy to get into her good graces to get something out of her? It could be a genuine gesture - the both of them seemed like they would be that type - but there wasn’t much reason to trust them yet.

Or distrust them.

Letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, she slid the card face-down back onto the bedside table and turned away to pull up a Netflix screen. Whatever.

* * *

“The anesthesia will kick in in a moment. You should feel nothing and be unconscious for the entirety of the procedure. We have options if you wake up.”

In the moment, Dr. Ziegler was medically cold, sterile gloves and mask obscuring her humanity. Her golden hair was hidden away and her skin was washed out under the glaring surgery lamps. Beside her was that omnic healer, light reflecting harshly off his metal dome, and Lúcio, ready with his own healing materials if needed.

“Alright, let's do this,” said Lúcio. Dr. Ziegler turned her head and responded, but Sombra didn't hear it. She was out.

* * *

Something was blinking. No - beeping?

Wait.

Sombra slowly breached the waves of consciousness. One of her systems was complaining about something.

Oh, it was her legs. Of course.

“How are you feeling?”

Dr. Ziegler was standing in an obliging manner beside the bed. The blinds were pulled up, letting sunlight into the room so that all the white in the room looked whiter.

Sombra groaned at the fuzziness in her head. “I need a drink.”

“Probably not the best idea.” The doctor gave a wry smile. “No pain?”

“I feel… light-headed.”

“That's to be expected.” She picked up the chart tablet and inserted some information. “Everything went well - no problems. Your legs are currently in stasis. I will examine them and develop functional prosthetics as quickly as possible.” Dropping the tablet into the holder, she let her hands fall to her sides. “I understand you may be itching for some movement, though, so I’ve found some placeholders hiding in a closet around here.” She produced a pair of temporary prosthetics from beyond the bed frame, previously out of Sombra’s sight.

They were sleek, functional, slightly outdated in their aesthetic design. Both legs held supports at the knees to hold up the body as best as non-fitted prosthetics could. “These should work just fine.” She said, leaning the two metal legs against the bed frame.

Metal and wires. Sombra was no stranger to becoming such things. She pushed any discomfort out of her mind. “When can I use them?”

“In a few days, once your body recovers. It won’t take too long, looking at the current speed of things.”

“The famous Ziegler treatment. Is it the same stuff that keeps your skin soft?”

She shot her patient a look. “I need to check a few things.” Unceremoniously, she pulled on a pair of gloves and folded up the bedsheet. Sombra’s remaining leg flesh prickled at the sudden air. Ziegler handled her legs with rubber-covered hands, and Sombra jumped slightly at the contact, feeling her legs kick even where they weren’t there anymore. It was an odd sensation, her tech systems repeatedly trying and failing to reconnect with missing skin and wire.

The internal notification kept going. It must have been just on the verge of being triggered before the connections were permanently severed in surgery. Sombra clenched her jaw.

The doctor finished her careful examination. Cold latex stopped chilling Sombra’s skin, and soon the sheet hid everything from view again.

“Well! Everything is going fine.”

“As fine as it could be, without a way to get around,” she muttered.

Dr. Ziegler gave a tight smile. “I’m sorry, but it’s just going to be a few days longer, and then I can let you go until the permanent prosthetics are ready.”

Sombra stretched in a pretense of nonchalance. “About time.”

* * *

Finding something interesting had become a drug of Sombra’s with her line of work, and with her sudden loads of free time, she had taken to snooping around a bit. Nothing too bad - certainly nothing to pile against Overwatch - just interesting life tidbits; the habits of local Gibraltar shoppers, a peek into a coworker’s criminal record… you know, casual.

That said, this discovery wasn’t all that casual. Sure, it was definitely a treat for her, but not for everyone else - she was lucky to notice him when she did, which made the find all the more exciting even though she had to report it. Not that she hated the guy. She actually thought he was kind of funny, when he wasn’t brooding. For Overwatch, though, and for her current purposes? Something would need to be done.

“You needed somethin’, Sombra?”

The newly-minted commander sauntered into Sombra’s part of the med wing, door smoothly sliding shut behind him. Sure, the room wasn’t really hers, but it sure felt like it the longer Sombra lazed around in this cheap hospital bed.

“I found out something that I think might be a little important.” Sombra was projecting a small screen beside her characterized by a live feed of a dark figure, motions pixelated from camera quality. A small warning box blinked in alarming red Spanish in the top right corner.

McCree’s head turned cautiously back towards the shut door, but he moved closer anyways, boots squeaking against the clean tilework. It was late at night but he was wide awake, eyes clear and questioning. Sombra watched him as he leaned towards the projection, hands stuffed into his jean pockets, squinting at the shadowed smear of pixels as he moved his unlit cigarillo to the other side of his mouth. “Is this…?”

“It’s security footage from a market in San Pedro de Alcántara. Not far from us at all.”

“Shit.”

“He’s definitely trying to get here, if I know him. What a drama queen.”

McCree carefully lowered himself onto the edge of her bed, keeping his eyes on the footage. His right leg bounced energetically, heel tapping the floor. “When’s this?”

“It’s live.”

The figure on the screen walked out of sight on one camera feed, so Sombra switched to another. Cloaked in black and dimmed by nighttime, it was hard to tell that he was even there, but at certain angles the block of white covering his face could be seen.

“...That’s no good. What’s that warning blinkin’ in the corner?”

Bluntly, she responded, “That’s just my body complaining. It doesn’t exactly appreciate that I don’t have legs anymore.”

“Hmm.” McCree ran a hand over his face. “What’s it look like he’s doing now?”

“I would say he’s trying to go slow and lie low. Going on foot at night so he doesn’t scare little kids and all. He’ll reach Gibraltar eventually, though.”

“‘Least we have some time.” He looked over to her. “You said you know him?”

“Of course I do, I worked with the guy.”

“No, do you know who he is?” His voice was stern. Even with the mussed hair and the cowboy hat perched on his head like always, he didn’t look like the silly boy playing dress-up that Sombra envisioned him as. He looked like a commander.

Sombra would tell him.

But.

The man in front of her was so sure of himself right now, so stubborn about what he knew was right, but he didn’t even know who Reaper was. Sombra had wanted to crush her comm to bits countless times while hearing that southern drawl over the speakers… but in an odd way, she sort of liked him. He could be funny sometimes. And she would never admit it, but there wasn’t a lot to really disrespect about him.

For some reason it felt… bad to hurt these people’s feelings. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason not to let this secret out… it would rock the boat quite a bit, of course, and maybe the rest of Overwatch would become suspicious of how much information she _really_ withheld, which would be a pain to deal with. No, feelings had nothing to do with it all. In an attempt to stall, she said, “Of course I do. The question is whether it would be a good idea to tell you.”

McCree drew back, standing up, shaking his head. “That don’t make you look too good right now, Sombra. You _did_ work for him once. How should I know you’re not bringin’ him over here?”

She shrugged. “I can tell you, but it’s your loss.” Damn it. She didn’t really want to open this can of worms. It wouldn’t be ideal for the commander to think she was still in cahoots with Reaper, though, no matter how much of a shitstorm this was about to be.

His discerning eye frowned down on her. “What do you mean, loss?”

She had to hand it to him, he knew how to look intimidating. Not sure whether it was Blackwatch or Deadlock that taught him that one. “Well, I call him Gabe. He hates it, though.” In an air of indifference, she looked away as she said it. When did she ever care about these people? Why start now?

“Gabe, as in Gabriel?”

A nod. “I’m sure you can figure it out, cowboy.”

“...Reyes.”

Each letter was flat and deliberate, an agonizing car crash in slow motion. She didn’t respond.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She finally looked at her commander’s face. It didn’t tell much, and she was good at reading people.

“Well.” He backed up further. “Thanks for the info, Sombra. I very much appreciate you bringin’ this to my attention. Expect a meeting sometime soon.” Nodding once, he languidly turned around and braced his palm against the door mechanism, leaving through the opening door.

Sombra looked at the spot where the man had disappeared along with the light spilling in from the doorway beyond. Her screen of the security cameras was still up, the figure on it long gone now. With a swipe of her hand, the projection collapsed.

* * *

“Well, today’s the day.”

There was a wobble in her voice as she pushed her way into Sombra’s room, but it was so well-hidden that Sombra barely noticed it. The doctor’s eyes were red-rimmed and her face was a fading blotchy pink, betraying what her voice almost disguised. Sombra was surprised to have to catch the words ‘what’s wrong’ before they left her mouth.

Dr. Ziegler was clearly distracted as she picked up the temporary prosthetics. She lined them up against the bed, and motioned to help Sombra up.

“My arms aren’t gone, I think I’m good.” Sombra sat herself up. She slowly pushed herself over to the edge of the bed, sheets bunching around her limbs. This whole ‘moving yourself around with only your arms’ thing was a bit harder than she thought. She managed to align the prosthetic attachment points with her legs, though. Score.

Dr. Ziegler huffed in frustration. “There is a reason I am supposed to help you with this.”

Sombra shrugged her off and attempted to stick her uneasy legs into the contraptions.

“Wait -”

Suddenly, the floor was rushing up to greet Sombra. There was a loud, abrupt clattering of metal slamming into something. For a split second she perfectly envisioned the way her nose would crunch into the tile.

Well, it would have, but there was a warm, thin arm around her torso.

Soft hands pulled her back up onto the edge of the bed. She regained her stolen breath as she was gently pushed backwards to sit up properly on the sheets, fabric giving and folding with the movement. It was a shock to her skin where Ziegler's fingertips pressed securely against her. It wasn't the kind of contact she had often.

“I told you,” the doctor simply muttered.

Sombra played off her furrowed brow as annoyance instead of perturbation. The metal legs had clattered across the floor, and she watched as Ziegler repositioned them in line with her patient's flesh legs once again.

“Let's try this one more time.”

This time, Sombra didn't argue. Ziegler guided her into the prosthetics, hands careful but firm around her core. She didn't interrupt as the doctor secured the connection, merely letting herself be maneuvered into an unsteady standing position. Looking down showed her a dotted hospital gown, a bit of naked thigh, and then foreign chrome.

“Come take a walk with me,” Ziegler encouraged.

Sombra lifted her chin. “Maybe first you could tell me why you’re upset.”

Ziegler’s head shot up, disbelief in her stony eyes. “Why do you care?”

“Just curious.”

They defiantly stared each other down.

A puff of air expelled through Ziegler’s nose. She looked away, maintaining her steadying grip on her patient. “If you must know, I just learned that a dear friend of mine has become something… unrecognizable. Of course, you knew about all that.”

Was the man Reaper used to be really worth the amount of pain people felt for him? The name Sombra called him in teasing was the name of someone’s son and friend once. To her, though, it was simply the name of her former boss’s past life. It was something she read all about - the way Overwatch crumbled apart along with this Gabriel Reyes, who was once a strong commander and a formidable SEP product. Facts - not feelings - to a name.

Sombra’s usual confidence twisted slightly. Instead of following up with any one of a number of further-damaging things waiting on her tongue, she tilted her head and gave a feeble attempt at wiggling one of her legs. “Well, you told me. How about that walk?”

Ziegler’s face held open distrust. Regardless, she wiped one of her eyes with a free hand and repositioned herself to provide Sombra with the most support possible. It was mental strength that Sombra could respect. As Ziegler began explaining the strategy behind optimal usage of the prosthetics, Sombra found herself really listening, as if in part she owed her that. Not that she would say it.

* * *

These temporary legs were ill-fitted and dug slightly into Sombra’s skin. Sighing, she shifted on them in search of any increase in comfort.

The debriefing room was filling up now. Reinhardt had come first, quickly followed by Mei and Torbjörn, as well as Ana Amari’s daughter - a new arrival. After that, every other member soon trickled in, until most of the seats around the long, rectangular table were appropriately filled. At the head, having been there the whole time, was McCree. Unfortunately, Sombra was made to stand beside him.

“Right. You should’ve all heard the news by now.” The head of the whole operation spoke, words weighed down like wet wool. Somber seriousness played out uncharacteristically on his face. “Regardless, I’ll need to reiterate.” He looked to the far corners of the room and swallowed. “Thanks to Sombra, we’ve learned that Reaper and Gabriel Reyes are one n’ the same.”

Every agent in the room maintained a stifling silence. Reinhardt laid his head in one large hand, and Dr. Ziegler looked down at her lap. Zarya, Lúcio, and Zenyatta displayed appropriate solemness despite having not known the man. It was as if someone had died.

“We also learned that he’s in Spain and coming closer to our lil’ base.” He gestured to a cropped map of southern Spain that included Gibraltar within its bounds. It was hung up hastily on the dusty, discarded projector board behind him using miscellaneous magnets. “Thanks to Sombra’s handy security cam access, we know that right now, he’s somewhere around Saladavieja.” His pointed finger fell upon the location on the map. It was marked with a magnet, and above it, so was San Pedro de Alcántara. Moving his finger up the map, he indicated the other location as well. “This was where she first noticed ‘im.”

Sombra shifted uncomfortably on her stupid stilts and wondered if McCree’s perfect pronunciation meant that he could speak Spanish. Some things she had muttered under her breath at him suddenly seemed unwise.

“Now, we don’t know where he’s goin’, but based on his history, it ain’t hard to guess that he’s on his way here. It looks like he’s alone, but we can’t take chances. I say we don’t meet him - let him come here, so we’re on home turf. We gotta be on the defensive starting now. Sombra?”

It was her turn. Dragging an arm upwards, she pulled up a live stream of security footage. The projection was big enough that everyone could see that it had multiple tabs to cycle through, all of which held other camera feeds that Reaper had passed through or might possibly pass through on his way to Gibraltar. “First of all, you’ll all be able to take a look at these cameras,” Sombra began. “To -”

“I feel like I failed him.” Ziegler’s voice was quiet and foreign in the room’s stuffy, dense air.

What little was happening screeched to a halt.

“Angie -” McCree started.

“No, I just -” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how... It’s not who he was.”

McCree softened in understanding. “I know.” He looked at his boots. “I don’t like it, but near the end there, he seemed…”

“Can we not talk about this?” Oxton interrupted, brash emotion coloring her face. Everyone turned to her - outbursts were unusual for her. “Whatever’s going on with him now…” she sighed. “He’s clearly not what he used to be. I don’t know if it’s smart to think of him as Gabriel. That would just make it harder to do what needs to be done.” Sullen, she folded her arms, unable to stop her eyes from watering.

Ziegler bristled, determination mixing with despair across her features. “Maybe we could help -”

A deafening screech punctured the room’s atmosphere. Sombra had pulled out one of the few vacant chairs and sat down in it. The conglomeration of mismatched agents now turned their heads to her, and she shrugged. “What? My legs hurt.”

“Couldn’t you have some tact for once in your damn life!?”

Impossibly loud silence followed.

Red anger slowly bled from McCree’s face. Slumping slightly, his metal palm dragged slowly down his face.

“Jesse…” Ziegler whispered in the silence. “I’m sorry.”

That Amari girl stood from her adjacent seat, facing McCree, hands firm with the will to do something, but she didn’t move.

McCree let out a sigh through his nose and brought his artificial hand off his face, back down into his pocket. “It’s alright. I knew this wasn’t gonna be easy.” A conflicting storm raged in the small creases of his brow, kept in check only by the ties of his self-control. His shout at Sombra was only a sliver of it, she could tell.

At this, Amari found motion in her and took soft steps towards McCree to stand beside him.

“I know how close this is to us all.” Amari took on an experienced commanding tone, and Sombra remembered the research she had done on her. She stood straight-backed and stern, as if she were to lead an army. “We need direction. We can’t let this divide us, or else whatever Reaper has planned will hurt us that much harder. I suggest we all listen to McCree about this and try to work together.”

McCree bumped the girl’s shoulder with his own. “Hey now, you’re co-commander, didn’t think you’d forget that.” There was a suggestion of a smile on his face. He addressed the room at large. “Everyone also listen to Fareeha, if you know what’s good for you. God knows she’s done some fine work back at Helix.”

Amari gave a similar half-smile. “Thanks, Jesse.”

The room filled with supportive chatter, and in that moment, Sombra felt like an alien.


	4. Chapter 4

These hallways felt so old now. They smelled different and the walls have discolored by now, but they were the same ones in which Angela used to live an entire life, and right now there were too many reminders of that. She pushed on, peeking into small recreational rooms until she found the one she wanted. Leaning in, she knocked on the doorframe. “Sombra?”

The girl had never turned the lights on - Angela had no room to talk, however; rooms often got dark around her as she worked too. Bright magenta projections spread out in front of Sombra’s face, coloring her in electric, mystifying neon, casting half of her face into acute darkness when she turned to look at Angela. It was somewhat relieving to see Sombra somewhere other than a hospital bed. The girl might be a cruel pain sometimes, but Angela never liked watching someone suffer from the horrible mix of boredom, fear, and doubt created by such an environment.

“Is this important? I’m doing something right now.”

Angela entered the room properly now, taking a look at the screens. On one, there was a wealth of information about southern Spain’s transportation systems; on another, a few camera feeds that Angela knew were also being sent to everyone’s comms; on a third, a list of recent flights to Spain; the list could go on even further. It did look quite important, but this was important, too, and besides, Angela already got the go-ahead from Jesse and Fareeha. She was allowed to pull Sombra away for the evening.

“I finished your new legs. If you want to keep going around in those other ones, feel free, but I know for a fact that they’re pinching your skin just a little bit.”

Sombra tore her eyes away from her display again. “That’s an understatement.” She carefully climbed out of her research nest, screens blinking away as she made it to the doorway.

“Come with me."

* * *

“You got all this done in a few days?”

Angela put a lot of care into leaning the new replacement limbs securely against the med wing bed. “Well, I was already doing some tinkering, and I had some help from Torbjörn, though he doesn’t like to do cybernetics much nowadays. But I suppose you could say that, yes.”

The two stretches of gleaming metal and artificial tissue fibers were intricately constructed to exact measurements. Working from materials in stasis wasn’t an easy task, but Angela had gotten over the disgust and difficulty of that back in med school, and now she prided herself on accuracy and patient comfort - or she did, back when she did much more work on cyber-enhancement. With her background, this project became almost a delight.

Especially with how good it was at distracting her.

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Sit up on the bed, please.” When Sombra complied, she lined up the prosthetics with her patient’s legs. “Now, this will be a bit different than what you’re used to. The way I set this up _should_ work, but… well, we’ll see. The prosthetics’ connection to your system is now wireless.” She pointed out a few mechanisms, then detailed the points of attachment that Sombra would need to become familiar with.

Sombra raised her eyebrows. “I have to say, I’m impressed.” She had apparently followed Angela’s explanation well, looking down at the tinted metal that marked wireless transmitters located across the connecting end of the prosthetic. Her praise seemed genuine - surprisingly not mocking.

“Thank you, I hope it’s as good as it seems. Let me show you how to put them on.” Leaning forward, Angela’s fingertips brushed Sombra’s knee. Critically and precisely, she attached first one leg and then the other. Thankfully, the small LEDs running down the outside of each artificial calf slowly brightened to life, indicating that they connected successfully. “Great! When these lights are on, it means that you’re able to use them.”

Turning away from her patient for a moment, she pulled out the bedside tablet and powered it on to a display of connection logos at zero signal strength. Beside her, she could tell that Sombra was experimentally twisting an ankle around. “We’re going to have to wait a moment for the wireless transmitters to link up with your system.”

Something was muttered under Sombra’s breath that sounded like a curse. “You’re telling me I have to wait for my legs to turn on? This isn’t the ‘10s.”

“Oh, no. This is just the initial setup. Once configured, connection should be automatic.”

“Oh, that makes a little more sense.”

Angela looked over her tablet screen. Slowly, a few of the signals graduated to one bar. She moved a stubborn chunk of bangs behind her ear. If it weren’t practically a rule of the trade, she would feel self-conscious about the absurd amount of sleepless tangles ruining her hair.

A couple signals moved up a grade. She sighed.

It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, but she needed to know.

“Reyes… Reaper. You worked with him. What was he like?” She asked, keeping her eye on the tablet.

Sombra rolled her head lazily, looking out the window. Today was a stormy one, rain splattering against the glass and ocean water growing choppy below. It made the room look gray. Her eyes narrowed. Too casually, she said, “Well, I had fun messing with him.”

Angela lowered her head, swallowing her words down and saying nothing. Sombra glanced over for only a moment, and at Angela’s angle, she couldn’t see the look on her patient’s face. Maybe she didn’t want to.

Surprisingly, Sombra continued. “I know he means something to you all, you know. I just didn’t know him when you did. He’s not who you all talk about.”

“Who is he, then?” She kept her head steady as not to jostle the tears defiantly collecting in her eyes.

“... He’s in pain.” The words were softer than Angela had heard Sombra speak before. “He never told me that though. But he’s told me he’s bitter.”

Angela audibly sniffed; she couldn’t help it. She kept a stubborn eye on the tablet. All signals were just about halfway done now.

“He had a really good sense of humor sometimes. It would surprise you.”

Despite herself, Angela smiled weakly. “That sounds like him.”

Raindrops thumped softly against the windowpane, rolling down in a race to the windowsill.

“What was Gabe like?”

“What?” Angela finally lifted her head and almost jumped; Sombra was looking right at her, curiosity aflame in her eye, features minisculely distorted in speculation.

“Before Reaper. What was he like?”

“Well…” And even though she learned that the man wasn’t actually dead, it made the most sense to keep referring to him like he was. “He was funny, but not how you’d expect, like you said. And he was serious about his work.” She smiled at some distant memory. “Cared a lot about us all, though he’d rarely show it. I think the one that got to see that the most was McCree.” She glanced back down at her screen. “Anyway, I’ve said too much; the transmitters are done.”

Sombra let out a laugh. “It’s hard to imagine him caring about anyone. Though maybe that’s because I would always drive him crazy. _Sombra, stick to the mission_ ,” she said in a whiny faux-growl, earning a surprised laugh from Angela as she set everything up through the tablet.

“Alright, now this should work. Try your invisibility for me?”

With a flick of her slim wrist, Sombra’s form shimmered into obscurity, leaving behind crumpled bed sheets. The prosthetics disappeared with her.

“Yes!” Angela couldn’t help herself; she punched the air triumphantly. It had been so long since she’d ventured out into experimental medical study. The thrill of completion in uncertain waters was one that she hadn’t realized she missed.

The air above the bed fizzed and fragmented, letting Sombra back into the visible realm. The transition wasn’t completely smooth, the process hiccupping a bit and haphazardly revealing her in less of a gradient than usual, but she still looked wholly satisfied. “Thank goodness that annoying warning is finally gone.” She rolled her eyes.

“Do you feel good enough to test your weight on the legs?”

For a split second, Sombra’s face tensed in consideration, but almost immediately she shrugged and threw her new feet down to the tile. Angela rushed forward to catch her, but there was no need. Her patient swayed, but didn’t fall, quickly regaining her balance. “These are way more comfortable than the other ones. ‘One size fits all’ my ass.”

Angela had to fight back a smile.

“Thanks for this…” Sombra must have realized that she hasn’t really directly referred to Angela before, because her words uncharacteristically closed off.

“Just call me Angela. Everyone else here does, anyways.” Satisfaction warm in her chest, she put the tablet back in its proper place at the foot of the bed.

“Why did you go to all this effort?”

Angela paused. “Well, I should.”

“Don’t act like it’s normal to do something like this without knowing the leverage you’d get, come on.” Sombra tilted her head with a somewhat jaded smile. “Did you put a tracker in these or something?”

Angela merely looked at her, hesitant. What, did Sombra think Overwatch was just out to get her?

“I know about what you did to that Shimada boy.” If a venomous snake could speak, its words would have the same tone. It was one that Angela heard a few times before, when Sombra thought she was getting to the bottom of something, a sort of sick confidence dripping off her words. “Fixing him up so that he could spend a few years being Blackwatch’s personal weapon.”

What? “I - no. Yes, that was what happened, but that was Reyes’ idea, so my hands were tied in the matter. I did the best I could to improve Genji’s quality of life while complying with my superiors. There is _no_ bad blood between us any longer.”

From the look on her face, it seemed that Sombra was slightly taken aback, but not completely discouraged. Angela took that as a sign to continue.

“I don’t understand where you are coming from, but regardless of what Overwatch used to be, right now we are simply trying to bring something _good_ together. We look out for each other here. That’s what we tried to do for each other back then, and that is what we do now.” She stepped forward and placed a hand on Sombra’s shoulder, ignoring the woman’s aborted attempt to shake it off. “I did this for you because you deserve to function, and because you work with us! We don’t leave our fellow members out in the cold like that.” God, it was Jesse and Deadlock all over again. Where did people get off on making others feel like they weren’t worth more than materialistic gain?

“Hmm. Looks like I was a little off base.” She was quieter than usual. “If you did something, I can find out.”

“Feel free. The security footage from my lab is complete and obviously available to you. You can take a look at every step of my process.”

Neither backed down.

Angela sighed at how people did stupid things to other people. That was when she decided to stop fighting. Gently, she prodded instead. “I told you what Gabriel was like. Could you tell me what Olivia was like?”

Suspicion narrowed Sombra’s eyes. “I don’t think so. Thanks for the legs, but I gotta split.” Waving her hand across her face, she disappeared.

“Sombra?” Angela called. No response. She swiped a hand through the air where Sombra had been. Gone.

She sighed once more and grasped the thin sheets with both hands. Might as well remake the bed.

* * *

“Nice work on her, Angela. Those prosthetics might be your best ones yet.”

Angela started, pile of paper notes scattering from her hands to fall across her mess of a desk. Seeing that it was only Genji at the door, some tension left her shoulders, but not all. “You saw her?”

“I did, in the kitchen earlier.”

“Oh.” That’s good; looks like she wasn’t just wandering around invisible to everyone. That would be troublesome.

He entered, taking a seat in an empty office chair beside hers. “What happened?”

Cursing Genji’s perceptiveness, she sighed. “Oh, nothing. She just seemed a little upset after we last spoke. I put her new prosthetics on, and then…” She shook her head.

“I was upset too, you remember,” he said softly. “It’s a shock, becoming something you don’t see yourself as.”

“I know. I tried to explain that all to her beforehand. It seemed like she wasn’t all that mad about the amputation part. She was arguing more about the possibility that I now have ‘leverage’ over her?” She pulled together a stack of looseleaf. It didn’t seem all that organized, but it had been organized to her, and now it was going to be a pain to redo it. “I don’t understand it.”

He laughed, the sound slightly tinny through his faceplate. “It is possible that she _is_ upset about the change, but the way she argued with you was just how that presented for her. She might not even know what she is actually upset about. Feelings are strange in that way.”

“I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It’s only customary for patients to fight with you,” Genji teased, and Angela chuckled. “She is likely to come back around.” He then stood, office chair wheeling slightly away from him. “Come, have dinner with me.”

Angela plopped the hopeless mound of paper back on her desk. Only half-serious, she said, “But it’s almost midnight,” as if she had never pulled countless all-nighters and eaten meals at the oddest hours.

“Yes, and I still haven’t eaten, and if I haven’t eaten, I will assume the same for you. Am I correct?”

Of course he was. She rolled her eyes. “Alright.” Like a prisoner, she reluctantly pulled herself away from the haphazard stacks of internal dialogue and joined Genji on his walk to the cafeteria.

“How have you been doing?” She asked.

“With everything going on, it is a bit hard to tell. Zenyatta has been an amazing resource in grounding me.” He looked down at his feet, following their rhythmic motions. “I didn’t know Reyes as well as the others, because I used to be an ass and push people away.” That comment made Angela smile. “He still treated me the same as everyone else. He didn’t even take any of my angsty shit!” He laughed. “I used to be so mad at him for what he made me. I’m not so angry anymore.”

“It’s not healthy to carry that around. I’m glad you could let it go.”

He nodded. “I think… perhaps carrying all that around is what made Reaper.”

Angela swallowed and shoved her hands into her pockets. “I just wish I could have helped him.”

“You did the best you could, Angela. There is no way you could have known this would happen.”

She sighed. She knew he was right, deep down, but it wouldn’t make the worry go away.

Genji continued. “It pains me to see what happened to him, but I feel like Jesse is the worst off of us all, right now.”

“And you wouldn’t even know it. He wasn’t the one crying at the debriefing.” A self-deprecating laugh came out of her, but it didn’t take long before she sobered. “I worry about him too. With what Gabe was to him...” They passed a few empty rooms, stagnant and life-devoid, dusty with the previous hiatus of human activity. The cafeteria was just ahead, but Angela stopped. Genji turned to her, his body language questioning.

“Want to invite Jesse to dinner?” She suggested. It was midnight, yes, and everyone was under stress right now, but neither of these things were new to anyone on base.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. Together, they set off for Jesse’s room.

* * *

It was around two in the morning. The storm was tapering in its strength, rain softly stroking the high window of Angela’s living quarters.

Jesse had looked tired when she and Genji found him and dragged him along to the cafeteria. He had deep-set rings beneath his eyes and was clearly trying to stop himself from revealing an irritated short fuse. He came along all the same, though, and for a moment it felt like a normal late-night dinner between friends, as if Overwatch was still in its prime. The past couldn’t revisit them completely, though, because they were all different people now.

He seemed at once both angry and sad, and all Angela and Genji could do was empathize with a few plates of microwaved leftovers. So, that’s what they had done.

She knew she should sleep now, and her unmade bed called to her through the exhausted stinging behind her eyes, but a familiar insomnia crept up on her and made it impossible. Instead, she got up from her desk and picked up a few pairs of sweatpants off the floor, depositing them in her hamper, and then began straightening up her closet. Might as well be productive if she must be awake.

Two short knocks to the door startled the dense nighttime silence away, sending Angela’s heart pounding. Slotting a hanger onto the metal bar inside the closet, she walked over to her door and opened it.

“Sombra?”

The person in question was in blue sweatpants and an oversized, faded t-shirt. Her face was bare and her hair was unstyled, sending strays every which way. It wasn’t a common look for her; Angela had only seen it while performing surgery. Her eyes flicked up to Angela’s face. “Listen. I’m not too good at this… thing.”

“What, this ‘interaction’ thing?” Angela gently laughed, a bit incredulous.

“Sure, you could say that.” She shrugged. “But, I want to try. Which is rare, so you better listen to what I _do_ say before I decide that this isn’t worth it.” It wasn’t a true threat, her eyes sparkling with mischief even with how tired she obviously was - just like Angela.

Angela welcomed her inside. “What do you want to say?” She sat on her bed and looked up at Sombra. Awkwardness wasn’t something she associated with someone like her, but it was there all the same. Sombra turned haltingly for a moment, then plopped down into Angela’s swivel desk chair, sending it lurching backwards a few inches. She examined her nails nonchalantly, turning the hot pink talons in half-circles under the sparse lamplight.

“Before… before the Crisis, Olivia, as you called her, lived in Mexico near a bakery that she used to visit aaall the time.” She shot an unusually unconfident look to Angela, who nodded at her to continue. She took a breath, then kept going.

Sombra spoke into the sleeping night, and gentle rain whispered above both their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kicks leg out real far* mmnew leggies


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m here to relieve ya, love.”

Oxton's tired voice released the tension in Sombra's shoulders. Grateful, she finally turned away from her post by one of the less prominent back entrances to the main section of the base and began to shuffle off.

“No thanks for me, huh?”

Sombra pivoted back around with an eye roll. “Thanks, _love_.”

Oxton closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a prolonged sigh. “Sorry, didn't mean to be like that. I'm just not myself lately.”

_Yeah, we could tell_. Sombra didn't say that though.“Yeah, I get it.” After a moment’s thought, she added, “Thanks for stepping in.”

“Sure thing.” The thin, bony woman stood attentive and straight-backed, hands resting at her pistols. Sombra watched her straighten her shoulders, and then she slipped back into the tense base. All lights were off so that Reaper couldn't single out active rooms. Dim half-light from the windows engulfed her.

As many agents as possible were stationed at the points of entry they thought Reaper would go for. It was a solid attempt - one that might actually work - but Sombra knew that Reaper could probably still make his way in. He’d broken into “infallible” building security countless times, and let’s be honest, the current Overwatch roster consisted of, what, pocket lint and a stick of gum? It wasn’t exactly ‘infallible’ material.

Regardless, she did her part. Better to be bare-bones ready than not prepared at all.

The halls were even quieter than usual. Everyone was collectively holding their breath.

Sighing, she slipped down to her room and sunk into bed, the mattress accepting the strength that drained from her. She closed her eyes.They threatened to open of their own accord no matter how hard she shut them. Growling in frustration, she burrowed into her pillow with a vengeance, but it did nothing. Okay, so her body wanted to be awake. Fine. She could work with that. Pushing herself up, she leaned back against the headboard and threw open some of the security cameras for the base. Someone else was keeping an eye on them too, but it never hurt to keep her own tabs on things.

Baselessly perusing the feeds brought her long, empty, gray hallways punctuated by the occasional Overwatch member resting or keeping watch. Sticking a hand out to her bedside table, she found the Coke bottle she had left there and finished it off. It was almost like she was back at home, doing this from her bedroom desk chair instead of from a room on a decommissioned Overwatch base.

It was strange, talking with Angela last night. The more time they had spent together after Sombra’s little accident, the more she had seemed human, instead of simply the representative of everything Sombra had on file for her. Sombra’s spent so long figuring out people’s angles and motivations that she never thought that someone might not _have_ an angle on her. Maybe someone just wanted to know her.

That hasn’t really happened since she was a kid. It was weird and new. And kind of cool, but mostly _weird_.

Sombra shook her head. There was a peculiar motion on the leftmost camera feed.

It was a shadow, barely even there. Her eyebrows lowered, and she leaned closer to the screen. A shotgun barrel suddenly appeared, circular death maw pressed up to the camera lens. With a flash, the screen went black.

She blinked at the red Spanish text reading _deactivated._ She flickered out of the light spectrum and burst out of her room, silently speeding down the hallways. That camera wasn’t too far from here. The sooner she got there, the better.

Her comm buzzed to life. “We’ve spotted him in the last corridor of the west wing. He is taking out cameras so we have to hurry before we lose track of him.” Amari’s hurried directions came through into her ear.

“I’m already on my way,” Sombra responded. One of her feet fizzed back into visibility for a moment before disappearing again. She cursed. Nothing she could do about that for now.

“Don’t be reckless,” Angela crackled into everyone’s comms, in the suppressed, efficient tone of a crisis.

“I’ll be fine,” she said as she spun around a corner.

This hall was where the camera used to be. Looking up, the security camera was now thoroughly gutted, only a ceiling stand remaining. The rest had scattered in a flurry of mechanisms and wires onto the ground below. The air still smelled of smoky dust.

It was so quiet.

Sombra grit her teeth and advanced down the dimly-lit hallway. It opened into a small storage space that held a couple of dusty boxes, one filing cabinet, and that shadowy figure. He had his typical shotguns gripped in clawed hands, back facing her, shrouded in darkness.

She squared her shoulders and slowed her pace to a stroll, putting on her familiar smirk. No need to become visible yet - she liked surprising people.

Reaper turned around, inexpressive mask failing to hide the body language of marked interest. “I know you’re there,” he said.

She quirked an eyebrow. It wasn’t like she had made noise.

“Your leg is... glitching.”

She dumbly looked down. Her left calf was shimmering in and out of vision.

Oh, fuck.

Resolute, she kept her stance and simply waved her illusion away. “Hey, Gabe.”

“Sombra.” It was a growl. “It was harder to get in here without you, you know.”

“Oh, you missed me?”

Reaper kept his grip on his guns. “Not really.” His mask dipped slightly with his head, and then came back up. “Looks like something finally caught up to you.”

She looked down at her legs with fake innocence, as if she had never even noticed them. “Eh, not quite. It was just skin, and, well, I only need this to do my job.” A palm bent to open her interface in front of her, purple-magenta hexagons projecting out from spindly cobweb lines connecting to her fingers.

The shadow backed up slightly, taking a cloud of nanobots with him and pushing him further into the dark corners of the poorly-lit room. “What are you doing here.” It didn't particularly sound like a question.

“What I always do. Making a few friends to help me out. No big deal.”

Suspicion weighed heavy on his voice. “...Really.”

She nodded, looking over her interface and her sharp nails as if she were bored. It was always fun to draw it out like this. “You’ve seen me use this thousands of times. Did you ever wonder what it was like?” Through it, she could see the way his nanobots linked together in a destructive dance. For a moment, she hesitated.

“Sombra.” The growl sounded like a warning, and he had drawn his shotguns, but it didn’t matter because with a flick of her wrist, she turned off the little detail that kept his nanobots in form.

She didn’t expect the anguished, primal scream that emanated from Reaper’s core.

The sound dissolved along with his solidity. His mask and weapons clattered roughly to the floor. He kept trying to pull his body together, nanobots scrambling to form a semblance of a face again, vague human-esque form looking more like an angry shadowy swarm than a person. The nanobots still had an idea of the shape they should be in, but couldn’t link together, leaving Reaper a mist.

His clothes draped oddly and unevenly across his form.

Oxton popped in, pistols at the ready. “Oh!” She looked down at the crouching semi-form. “Well… that’s helpful.”

“Thanks.” Sombra approached Reaper, crouching down to his level. “Hey, can you hear me?” Immediately, the head - if it could be called that - of the shadow swarm nodded slowly.

Oxton walked closer as well. “Well, we can’t handcuff a cloud.” It had the make of a joke, but fell flat in the circumstances. She looked down at Sombra, and Sombra looked up at her.

“Ugh,” she sighed. “I suppose we should radio that cowboy.”

* * *

“Shit.” McCree rubbed his jaw, looking down at the current situation. Next to him, Angela stood stock still, and Amari hand a hand over her mouth.

“Yeah,” Oxton succinctly summed up.

Sombra stretched out of her crouch. “Maybe we should put him in a jar.”

McCree shot her a look. “Real funny. So how long will he stay like this?”

She shrugged. “Until I fix it. His nanobots just forgot how to connect.”

Reaper brought a not-hand up to his face approximation. The two faux masses meshed, and he pulled where his nose would be out of where his palm would be.

Something unidentifiable briefly crossed McCree’s face. “If we locked him up in a room somewhere, could he worm his way out?”

“Not… not the way he is right now. I don’t think he has as much control over himself at the moment…” Angela trailed off.

“Right.” He crouched down to Reaper’s level. “Can you move?” The cloud lurched away from him and defiantly rose into a semblance of a standing position. McCree rose, too, to meet his height. “You’re gonna have to come with us, then. Or else you’re just gonna keep on being a dust bunny. Your choice.”

Reaper’s nanobots continued to shake, agitated.

Amari stepped forward. “Follow me.”

The swarm backed up as if surprised. Perhaps Reaper hadn’t noticed her at first. Despite himself, he drifted over to Amari and reluctantly followed her purposeful stride out of the room.

Slowly, McCree’s boots scuffed the concrete floor as he leaned down and swiped the hard white mask off the ground. It had a hairline fracture across the nose. He silently flipped it around, running a calloused hand over the pocked material. Angela approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Sombra figured she wasn’t supposed to be here for this. With more tact than usual, she slipped out.

* * *

“Hey, Angela.”

Sombra watched in amusement as Angela jumped, cup of coffee sloshing in her hands. She turned around and leaned on the kitchen counter, fear leaving her. “Sorry about that!” She laughed. “You scared me.”

“I noticed.”

Angela sipped her coffee. Her mouth and eyes were lined with exhaustion, hair pulled up into an unruly explosion of fair gold. She swallowed and stared into her mug. After a few moments of blinking into her caffeine, she seemed to remember that she had company. “Ah, would you like coffee?”

“No thanks. I’m a soda girl.” She tilted her head. “Liquor works too.”

Angela rolled her eyes and took another sip with a mumble that sounded somewhat like ‘that wouldn’t be too bad right now.’

The high windows of the kitchen were pitch black. Wind howled outside, scratching on the glass like a dog wanting to be let in. Above their heads glared an industrial-level overhead light that heated the floorboards with its strength. Sombra lent an ear to the wind for a moment, then asked, “How’re you doing?” Suddenly she wished she had a cup in her hands. Instead, she rested an elbow on the counter behind them.

“Are you really asking me that?”

“What, I can’t express concern for the woman that gave me new legs? Social capital, ever heard of it?” Her elbow slipped slightly across the counter, and she used it as an excuse to settle deeper against its surface.

“Oh, so that’s why you’re seeking me out in the middle of the night when you really should be sleeping instead?” She gave a teasing smile against the lip of her mug, then set it down on the counter with a sigh. “It has been… difficult.”

“Wanna…” Ugh, she never had to do this before. “Wanna talk about it?” Her nails looked very interesting right now.

For a moment, the only sounds were the buzz of the powerful lighting system and the hum of the refrigerators.

“It hurts. More than I expected.” Under the light Angela’s features were sharply and warmly shadowed. She looked down to the floor. “I thought I couldn't accept that he died. Now I can't accept that he didn't.”

Oh.

Small droplets of tears slid down Angela's cheeks, and she ducked her head.

“Hey.” Sombra sidled up next to her, awkwardly wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Wasn't a real friend of hers supposed to be doing this instead? That cyborg, or maybe Oxton. Sombra was _not_ qualified for this, but well, she was here. So she tightened her grip around the other woman's shoulders and let her turn inwards. “I'm… sorry.”

Angela shook her head against Sombra's shoulder and pulled away. “No, sorry, I shouldn't put this on you,” she sniffed, furiously scrubbing her face with her hands.

“Wha - hey! I offered you my hug, now you'll take it.” Sombra put her arm back where it was, even though the warmth of another person’s body beneath part of her own was still a foreign experience. Angela didn’t pull away this time.

“I tried to help him, to talk to him. But right before he… before the accident, he was so angry and stubborn. I couldn't get through to him. Just - I could have done _more_.”

Done more what? From Sombra’s extensive research, it seemed that before Reaper became Reaper, there were more than a few things bothering him, all of which Angela couldn’t have been remotely responsible for. It’s not like Angela was Gabe’s mom or something.

At that thought, she tried not to snicker. “God, you remind me of my mom.”

Angela wiped her eyes. “What?”

“My mom always blamed herself for shit she had no part in. If Los Muertos beat up some kids on our street, she would feel bad about what she could've done. They weren't even her kids!” Sombra threw her free hand into the air. “But you know what?” She pointed at Angela. “You gotta look out for number one. Other people aren’t always your problem.”

“I -” Angela heaved a short, frustrated sigh. “I agree, but sometimes you have to take responsibility.”

“Yeah, and sometimes you just gotta let it go. Accept that other people’s shit isn't your fault.”

Angela only narrowed her eyes, so Sombra doubled down.

She let the counter behind them support her weight, relaxing her arm so that it fell off Angela’s back to rest on the laminate. “Listen. I know Reaper. I know how angry he is. There's no _way_ all that angst came from you not doing enough. It's not your fault that someone else dropped the ball on his ass.”

“Ugh, I think we all ‘dropped the ball’ somewhere for him,” she sighed.

“I mean, he also _chose_ that his reaction to all that would be to wear an outfit from Hot Topic and start shooting people, so I think that says more about him than you,” Sombra muttered.

Unexpectedly, Angela snorted. “My God, it is dramatic.”

“Right?” Sombra said, gesturing wildly. “One time I asked him why he looked like he just discovered _Three Days Grace_ and he just said it’s ‘personal’! How personal can wrapping yourself in a black bedsheet get?”

Angela was truly laughing now, coffee forgotten, and even though Sombra never expected to actually get attached to anyone here, she had to say... it was kind of nice.

* * *

It was usual for Sombra to spy on people. She built her life as Sombra on infiltration, file-grabbing, and sneaking around. Once she got used to it, it was a reward in itself to find out something of interest. Spying on the other Overwatch members felt more uneasy the longer she stayed here, though. For some reason getting coffee with someone in the morning or sitting in a rec room in pajamas with them sort of negated the security snooping gave her. Instead it just felt… wrong.

But it’s not like she was all that close with this particular agent, so a screen was currently pulled up to one of the base’s many camera feeds. Yeah, it felt off, but she was curious and sure as hell wouldn’t ask McCree about it herself, as if he would tell her anything.

Onscreen, the cowboy sat in a chair in front of one of the few holding cells on-base. This base wasn’t often used to hold anyone, in its prime or after, but the infrastructure had included the ability just in case. From the camera’s position Sombra got a view of the man’s broad shoulders, currently tightly bunched beneath his flannel. His head was drooping, propped up on one hand.

Sombra craned her head to hear better, but there was no sound to be heard. McCree wasn’t even speaking. He was only staring at the mess of poorly-coordinated nanobots festering behind the thick amorphous metallic glass.

She switched to another camera angle. Now she could see McCree properly - the messy hair tangled up in the fingers of the hand his face rested on, as well as the way he watched Reaper's rare movement with something simmering behind his eyes, though she couldn’t tell what.

Whatever. She shut down the screen. Who cared what he was doing? When had she started caring? He could do what he wanted, even if it was just wallowing. She didn't need to get involved.

That lasted for a minute at most.

Sighing, she rolled out of bed and left her room.

It wouldn’t be ideal to go there herself. McCree and her were on speaking terms, sure, but that was the extent of it. Who on-base would be able to deal with this?

She thought for a moment, snapped her fingers, and headed off.

* * *

“Wait, why were you even spying on him?”

“I wasn't _spying_ on him, I was making sure everything was still good with Gabe, okay?” Sombra crossed her arms.

Infuriatingly, Angela wasn't having it. She brought her empty coffee mug to the sink with a smile. “You were checking on Jesse, how sweet.”

“Ugh. Just - can you go see him? I wouldn't usually care, but it might be a little bad if the guy in charge just marinated in his feelings all day.”

“Feelings aren't bad,” Angela said as she washed out her mug, soapy water rising over the brim.

“Well, they are if they make you stare at a cloud for an hour. Seriously, he looked mad.”

Angela sighed. “Alright.” The mug clattered onto the drying rack. “But you're coming with me.”

“What?”

Before Sombra knew it, she was being guided out of the kitchen by the arm.

* * *

“Jesse?”

McCree’s slumped figure shifted slightly in its chair, his back to them. “Hey, Angie.”

Cautiously, Angela approached McCree’s side, soft footsteps loud in the silence. Sombra hung back, not really sure if her presence would make this any better. As she watched, Angela rested one hand on the man’s shoulder. “You’ve been in here for a while.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back, chair creaking. “Jus’ tryin’ to… I dunno.” He shook his head. Sombra wished she could see his face.

“You should take a break. It’s good for your health,” Angela tried.

“Yeah, I just…” he gestured tightly to the holding cell. “I wanna know _why_.” The meaning of that vague, nebulous phrase wasn’t lost on anyone, lined with harrowed disappointment.

Behind the strong glass, Reaper had ceased all motion, merely swarming in place. Everyone watched him quietly.

Eventually, Angela shook her head and forced herself to focus her attention on McCree. “Come on. We can get some food, you can come watch a movie with us.” Insistent, firm, but also gentle; it was how she sounded with her patients.

“Us?” He briefly turned his head to look back, seeing Sombra in the doorway. He huffed. “I’m not really up for that right now. Sorry, pumpkin.”

“Hey, if you don’t come, I _will_ eat all the popcorn we have,” Sombra piped up as she leaned against the doorframe.

“See? She’ll eat all the popcorn,” Angela confirmed.

McCree’s metal hand scratched at his cheek, fingers glinting in the yellowed light. “Someone needs to keep an eye on ‘im and it don’t really seem like a good idea to let anyone else do it,” he muttered. He was grasping at straws now, trying to hold onto whatever he was trying to get out of this… thing he was doing.

“We could put Zarya and Zenyatta in here. Neither of them know him and both will do just fine if anything happens. You know that.”

His head tilted, rolling Angela’s idea around in his mind. Sighing, he conceded. “Alright. But I get to pick the movie.” He rose out of his seat slowly, like an old man, and took an extra moment to observe the creature behind the glass. With a prompting touch from Angela, he finally turned away.

There was anger and disappointment and sadness all wrapped up in the tense lines of McCree’s clenched jaw. It wasn’t something Sombra had ever seen so strongly in him before. Shaken, it felt like she owed him some normalcy for some reason. Casually, she said, “We should get lunch, I’m starving.”

“Yeah, me too,” McCree curtly responded. They called Zarya and Zenyatta over and then made their way to the cafeteria, the holding cell door sliding shut behind them.

* * *

“Wake up. You chose this movie, now you’re gonna watch it.” Sombra smacked McCree’s arm from the far end of the couch, where she was currently shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. No way was she gonna watch some Clint Eastwood bullshit or whatever of her own volition, and if the man who decided to torture her like this wasn’t even awake to watch it, then there just wasn’t a point, was there?

McCree started awake, hat hanging comically over most of his forehead. He blinked his tired eyes.

“Sombra, I will take away your legs if you keep waking him.” Angela’s straight face was impressive. “He can sleep all he wants.” She leaned further against the armrest of the musty old couch. The sounds of gunfire and Southern twang continued to leave the TV speakers.

“Naw, she’s right, I should see this through.” Even as he spoke, a strong yawn broke up his words. Regardless, he straightened, readjusting his hat upon his head for the fifth time that evening. “I wonder how Zarya an’ Zen are doin’,” he muttered to himself. A piece of popcorn smacked him in the eye, making him jump.

“Don’t. They’re fine,” Sombra said, posed to throw more popcorn if necessary.

“Jesus.” He sunk deeper into the couch cushions. “If you do that again, I’m at liberty to drop you into the Catalan Bay, you lil’ shit.” Angela let out a tinkling laugh at that. A twinkle in Sombra’s eye, she raised her fistful of popcorn and pulled back as if she were about to launch it all over McCree’s lap. Slowly, McCree turned to look her in the eye with a smirk, as if to dare her. Smiling, she only shoved the handful into her mouth.

Maybe she would stick with Overwatch a while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! I might add some more to this AU if I get the inspiration so if I do, this will become a series. Thanks for reading! :-)

**Author's Note:**

> So I have this whole thing written but I'm just doing some final editing first! 
> 
> In this AU, Sombra is a member of Overwatch for her own reasons, reasons which I don't state in this fic bc I wasn't really confident enough with her character to give her solid background on that. Also, Reaper is still technically a member of Talon.
> 
> I wondered how two unlikely overwatch characters would become friends (or friendlier at least), thought of mercy and sombra, and then this story happened lmao


End file.
